


The Fast and the Furriest

by Project0506



Series: Soft Wars Silly Sides [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:15:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24196540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: Their Generals are pinned down and the Seps are moving in.  The Shebse ride to the rescue.  Even if theystilldon't have thumbs.Sequel to That Feline Feeling
Series: Soft Wars Silly Sides [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706599
Comments: 63
Kudos: 486
Collections: Fun/Humour/Crack in a Galaxy Far Far Away





	The Fast and the Furriest

**Author's Note:**

> For additional hilarity, check out [@littleclevercat](https://littleclevercat.tumblr.com) on Tumblr and their amazing [Shebse Russian Cat Meme](https://littleclevercat.tumblr.com/post/618349000373960704/so-i-cant-stop-laughing-at-the-fast-and-the)!!

Minutes before their position would have been overrun, a single fighter breaks the Separatist line like a Force-damn miracle.

“Never heard you swear before sir,” Lt Razor jokes. “Things getting that serious?” Mace doesn’t have to hear Lt Stak snickering to know he is.

His Lightnings have this incredibly bizarre joke they perpetuate, where someone (usually Guard) witnesses the bare edges of Mace’s temper and every single one of them pretend in the moment it’s the first time anything like that has ever happened and it probably means the galaxy’s doom is imminent.

Whatever amuses them, Mace figures.

Somewhere just on the bare edges of Mace’s hearing, Knight Skywalker starts cackling. Not laughing, he does that just about every time there’s a fight and he’s never bothered to hide how much he enjoys those. No, this is very much a headache-prophesying _cackle_. That, in perfect counterpoint to the disturbance rippling through the very center of the Separatist advancing line, is _not_ a good thing.

The fighter twists a dainty figure above the Separatist cannon entrenchments and a veritable cloud of explosives tumble from the storage hatch. They know, the Separatist droids _know_ what is happening in a way that Mace doesn’t yet. The first droids see the explosives coming and, like Mace has never seen them do before, they start _running_. In all directions, an avalanche of a disorderly abandon-post. No, not running: they’re trying to reestablish a perimeter around a threat area in the former center of their formation. Containment. They’re too late.

The bombs hit the ground, and start bouncing.

The disturbance behind the Separatist line becomes a _rout_.

“ _Really_ Anakin? I thought I told you not to bring those dangerous things!” Obi-Wan snaps, and Skywalker howls.

“It wasn’t me!” Hard to believe his word, when he’s laughing so hard he can barely breathe. It’s a conversation between Master and former Padawan, so Mace won’t intrude; if he had cared to though, he’d tell Obi-Wan to let it go. Whatever those were, they work. Terrifyingly well.

“Hold the line!” Mace orders, and Lightning, Ghost and Torrent on point, left and right forward flanks set themselves to stemming the flood of droids rushing haphazardly at or past them. Wolfpack and Star on the rear guard throw themselves into support.

The bombs explode on every hit, and they’re not all the same. Some fire shrapnel, some sizzle with electricity. The ones closest to the Republic fronts tend more towards the latter, occasionally interspersed with ones that spit strings of foaming goo that get deep in droid wheels and hinges and stick. The shields around the droid cannon emplacements flicker and go dark, and the cannons themselves start sparking and smoking moments later.

The rout becomes a retreat and if Mace barks a laugh when the men cheer, his Lightnings would never tell. For the first time in days, the pass is quiet, and the dust being kicked up is between them and the enemy, instead of behind.

Skywalker is still cackling. Harder now, and a second later Obi-Wan sighs “Oh _honestly_ ,” and that’s about when Mace figures it out. Senses what he shouldn’t be sensing at all. Padawan Tano was supposed to be on watch: Mace will have some very stern words for her, when they get back to the Negotiator.

The fighter sways to a landing behind Republic lines, perches neatly to a stop in a clear spot next to the transports their forces had taken down to the planet three days ago. “Stak you have command,” Mace grunts and marches towards the deceptively innocent fighter, robes snapping around his ankles. “If you don’t piss me off, you might make Commander here in the next few minutes.” Lt Stak waves an acknowledgment, taps his bracer twice and calls a sharp “ _ Kot _1.” Mace can feel his amusement.

Maybe, Mace thinks, with the kind of optimism he doesn’t usually indulge in. Maybe they’d found a cure, or the… he’s _not_ calling it a spell. The _effects_ had spontaneously worn off. Maybe the occupants of that fighter are entirely justified in being here.

Mace hears the _tink tink tink tink_ of a little bell before he sees the culprits. “You _must_ be joking,” he mutters.

Obi-Wan and Plo bracket him, both with their hands demurely tucked into their sleeves. A unified front of Council Disapproval. Plo is veritably giggling silently, and Obi-Wan’s blank face needs work. Mace spares annoyance at both of them and they brush it off with the ease of long practice.

“Great timing Rex!” Skywalker bellows. Captain Rex of the 501st _mrows_ proudly. The rest of Mace’s current headache trail out behind him innocently, as if they hadn’t been given strict orders to stay off the battlefield until they had regained bipedal status and opposable thumbs. Knight Secura darts forward and sweeps Commander Bly up into her arms with a congratulatory trill and the two proceed to chirp and rub cheeks and chins in the most unseemly manner.

“That’s actual legitimate communication,” Plo says amiably, tusks warbling in the way Mace knows means he’s upgraded from giggling to matching Skywalker’s cackling.

There’s a very familiar blue astromech disengaging from the top of the ship, and an equally familiar protocol droid peeking sheepishly out of the cockpit. Because of course it would be those two menaces that would fly feline-shaped commanders into an active battle zone.

The chief menace, and Mace is sure of this from years of listening to Ponds cooing about his habits of planning his way into and out of trouble, Captain Rex bounds with a tinkling of his collar bell and lands neatly atop the astromech, who trundles him away to the knot of 501st blue. The Captain yowls imperiously, and a trooper with a large V painted on his helmet steps forward immediately. “Here sir,” he salutes and then, as far as Mace can tell, they begin _conversing_. With the trooper stopping to translate to another with the Republic cog on his helm. And Skywalker chiming in with the occasional insight.

Did the 501st _learn to speak cat_? And did they do it so they could keep a _cat as their commander_?

Mace resists the urge to pinch his nose.

“Honestly Cody when I said ‘keep him out of trouble’, I in no way meant ‘follow him _into_ trouble'!” Commander Cody, perched on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, grumbles. “Yes I’m _aware_ he’s difficult to corral, but Cody he’s _a quarter your bodymass_ right now, you can just pick him up.” Another grumble. “Oh _don’t_ give me that-”

Plo is busy chiding Commander Wolffe, his distress sparking through his amusement as he pulls thermal detonators from the various pockets on the Commander's custom-made vest. “This is very irresponsible,” the Kel Dor intones. “You do not have the dexterity to reset any of these if they are accidentally triggered.” Commander Wolffe rolls something high-pitched from the very back of his throat. Plo sputters, insulted. “I do _not_!”

Commander Bly has two paws on Knight Secura’s shoulder and is peaceably cleaning her auditory cone. There’s really only so much they can get away with calling ‘legitimate communication techniques’.

“I’m the only sane person in this war,” Mace realizes.

Ponds sits on his foot and headbutts his shin.

“I’m very annoyed at you right now,” Mace informs him flatly. Somehow, Mace knows that the chirp he gets in response is not an acceptance of guilt like it _should_ be. “I’m promoting Razor. _He_ listens to me.”

Ponds slinks up and presses his front paws against Mace’s knee. Whoever said cats meow has never met a cat. They _can_ meow, but in the past week Mace has come to understand that they make a whole host of other noises far more often. What noise Ponds makes is like the very beginnings of a croaked meow that trails off into dejected, open-mouthed silence. His eyes are huge and pleading. Mace will not be swayed. Ponds swaps to a glare, clicks rapidly deep in his throat.

“He will _learn_ the file system,” Mace snaps. Ponds sneezes twice, pointedly. “That’s only because you’ve deliberately made it so arcane no one else can figure it out.” Mace’s Commander stretches as far as he can, claws one paw up in the air and Mace gives in.

Ponds isn’t satisfied with being pulled into Mace’s arms, no. He eels his way up to Mace’s shoulder and rubs the entire length of his body along the side of his head before settling into a seat with tail tucked primly over his russet toes. He’s very smug.

“You can’t consider my height an accomplishment,” Mace points out as they rejoin the knot of typically dignified Jedi fawning like younglings over their Commanders. Ponds tail twitches in amusement, and his smugness grows when Mace pulls level with Obi-Wan and Ponds sits almost a full head higher than Commander Cody.

“Gentlebeings.” All attention snaps to Mace, and the strange mishmash of conversations die away. “This is the first breathing room we’ve had all day, let’s not waste it.”

“Agreed,” Obi-Wan says. “This is an excellent opportunity to push the advance.” The cat atop the astromech nods sharply.

“You are _not_ going.” It shouldn’t need saying but apparently it does. Mace is glad Skywalker's the one to say it, not him. The blue-striped cat, the _kitten_ , glares brown-eyed malevolence at Skywalker and growls.

It’s clearly a well-practiced move: Commander Cody sails gracefully from Obi-Wan’s shoulder, over the top of the mech, snagging the kitten Captain as he goes. He lands delicately on his toes, menace in mouth, scruffed and snippy about it. Commander Cody gives him a shake, and he subsides with a grumble.

“Thank you dear,” Obi-Wan says, and Mace is just going to assume he’s forgotten he’s still very firmly in public.

Ponds steps into the role Mace can always trust him to play, wrangling the more feline of his fellow commanders into some sort of order and herding them into a clump. It takes some convincing to persuade Commander Bly down from Knight Secura’s arms.

“Don’t worry Masters,” Anakin assures. His voice is that pure confidence that Mace has learned is about to dare the universe to intervene to prove him wrong. “R2 promises to watch them. They’ll stay right here with the ship, where it’s safe.”

Why does that trigger some long-buried memory in Mace’s mind? There was something in a report once... Something to think of later.

* * *

“You like that? _You like that_?! That’s a hundred and twenty pounds of pure boiling plasma and I’m gonna shove it _right up your exhaust port_ til it punches right through your higher processors you _coolant line lickers_ Ahahahaha!”

“Well,” Wolffe says. “I like him.”

“You would,” Bly huffs. “Left pedal down twenty degrees.”

“Give me another ten.” Bly shifts, the ship shivers and Wolffe puts his shoulders to the yoke. The fighter yaws smoothly, but the karking nuisance Rex brought still whimpers.

“Maker preserve us,” it whines. “Wouldn’t you gentlemen let me-”

“Rex if that thing puts its fingers on my dash I’m going to bite them off,” Wolffe announces. He doesn’t know how his teeth would fare, but he’s willing to give it a good old try. “E-10 switch to full open. Everyone get ready for a 90 degree.”

Rex scrambles across the dashboard, collar merrily jingling as he goes. His tiny paws fit easily between the spread of switches and touchpads without disturbing any but the one he targets. “E-10,” he chirps and bats it on. He sinks his teeth into the leash attaching his chest harness to the control center and holds on as they go nearly sideways. His paws dangle uselessly in the air, clenching and unclenching like he’s swimming. Wolffe is lashed down firmly to the yoke, back legs braced against the pilot’s seat, and he doesn’t have to bother with that foolishness. The nerd looks like he’s having fun.

“Leveling. Cody when we’re flat give me boost.”

They level out, Cody gets the cockpit floor under his paws and takes a running leap head-first at the injector controls. There’s a satisfying distant boom and the ship under Wolffe’s paws jumps like she’s eager and she dances to his controls like the sweetest girl in atmo. Force, Wolffe loves piloting. Kark Ghost, he’s taking this sweetheart with him when he goes back to the Wolfpack. She’s wasted on those sludge-scraped void-brains. Don’t know a thing about treating an in-atmo lady right, karking Navy space fliers.

“It’s Lifeday and your present is _burning fiery_ _ **destruction**_!” R2 shrieks and the ship sways with the retort of it’s guns. Wolffe’s not the only one loving this ship. He knew he liked that little tin can.

“R2 _please_ ,” the annoying one wibbles.

“Rex,” Wolffe grunts.

“Sorry, I only brought him cuz thought we might need thumbs.”

“And the bleepy new-assembled frag-cored scrap heap never gets any excitement unless I make him,” R2 trills. “Data flow’s gonna freeze if you don’t exercise your gyroscopes every now and then!”

“That sounds reasonable. Wolffe I have a cannon cluster at your 3 o'clock, ten kliks.” Ponds tilts his head all the way left then all the way right, peering at the display. "Looks like they’re still trying to get them dug in.” He bats sharply at the display with one paw, then rears up and slams both front paws on the screen. It zooms in. “Yep, their anchors are still above ground. We can hit that then swing back around to support the advance line before anyone figures out we’re up here.”

“Can’t order us to land if they don’t know we took off,” Cody agrees, and that’s support from The Marshall Commander of the GAR isn’t it? Wolffe’ll take it. It’s going right in the report General Plo’s going to make him write up to try to make him feel bad about this. That’s a problem for Wolffe-with-thumbs though. Wolffe without has work to do.

“Bly, ease me off center pedal, 15 degrees.” There’s a flash of yellow in the shadows of the footwell, and Bly curls himself between the pedal and the floor and starts pushing. “Cody, eyes on pre-burner temp. Add airflow if it drops below white range. Rex A5, A8, D15 and give a warning then hit F12. Hey mech, want to go see what they’re up to?”

“All will fry!” R2-D2 agrees and the gold wimp moans.

“Oya little buddy!” Ponds cheers back.

“F12,” Rex calls. Wolffe digs his claws into the seat and apologizes silently to the tears in the plast cover. “Everyone hang on to your hairballs!” Around the cockpit, various small furry figures dig claws and teeth into leatheris and duraplast handles and straps.

“Punch it,” Wolffe orders.

The ship _leaps_ towards the fight Wolffe leads the howls of pure glee.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Strength. If this is your first time dabbling in this little universe of mine, know that this is an in-joke that started [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23407009). Back  
> 


End file.
